Stem

“This is some decomposed music,” declares Wong (Spooks) in her perceptive and gripping sophomore outing, which showcases the luxurious sonics of her poetry (“Submerged/ in the memoriam swamps,” “bodied breath in the blue/ funeral vase, your death/ masked”). This poem, the first in an impressive series of dramatic monologues, vitally and eccentrically captures Wong’s talent for unexpected turns of phrase as she pays tribute to female composers, musicians, and visual artists (among them Johanna Beyer, Mira Calix, and Clara Rockmore). Fittingly, the collection’s music is further “decomposed” by Wong’s use of slashes, a visual interruption that, combined with her playful diction, lends a provocative flippancy to such subjects as God, Satan, and Buddha, who frequently appear as fallible friends of the speaker: “You ask why you weren’t invited to my birthday/ and God, I’m just so tired, especially in your adverse/ conditions, of running after you.” As Wong dips in and out of various personae, her biting cleverness remains consistent throughout. These insistent poems achieve a brash and beautiful irreverence. (Oct.)